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Endless Boogie - Focus Level (2008)

Ankh

The concept that guides Endless Boogie is a relatively simple one: Take the moment at which any good blues-rock jam crests-- the four bars of transcendent face-scrunching and pull-off-laden glory-- then extend that moment onward into oblivion. Focus Level-- the New York City based quartet's first widely available release-- is a choogling zen-prayer, a long-winded invocation to the spirits of Canned Heat, Coloured Balls, and all those who saw the majesty in a pentatonic guitar solo that extended beyond the seven-minute mark. And at 79-minutes long, Focus Level comes about as close to eternity as a compact disc will allow. And that's kind of hard to take in one sitting.

Formed in New York in 1997 by selected Matador Records employees and a professional record collector, Endless Boogie practiced for nearly four years before playing their first show-- an opening slot for Stephen Malkmus in 2001. Since then, the band has done small-scale tours with Dungen and the chameleonic Finnish metal group Circle (who are also their No Quarter label mates) as well performing sporadically in their hometown. They've released two limited press 12" records-- Endless Boogie I and II-- which have at this point vanished forever into the collector scum ether. A hobby band for aging music nerds, Endless Boogie is dangerously low on careerist aspirations. They won't even play a show unless somebody invites them to.

For the most part, the music on Focus Level can largely be described with the language one might use for a barbecue chicken recipe-- hooks are slow simmered and gooey, leads are greasy, and the skin is slightly charred. Over the course of 10 minutes, songs like "The Manly Vibe" and "Executive Focus" work the unexplored (and unexpected) ground between Neu! and Black Oak Arkansas-- carrying hypnotic grooves into tongue-wagging bar-rock abandon with the dueling dollar-bin solos of guitarists Paul Major and Jesper Eklow. Major also enhances the swampy vibe with a stew of bridge troll grunts and growls. "Tell me why that is/ The paper boy don't come no more," he ponders on "Bad River", fully capturing the low growl of Captain Beefheart-- and also Dr. Teeth. But the lyrics are just as soon said as forgotten as the band departs on a laid back stroll toward the next guitar solo. Focus Level is rock minimalism at its most casual-- austere repetition and art noise that's good for both the bong-water soaked psych-cognoscenti and the chili cook-off.

But if you've seen enough Coors Light commercials, there's a good chance that a large portion of Focus Level will slide beneath your threshold of sensory perception. It's hard to think of a genre of music more ubiquitous than the electric blues, and after hearing more than an hour of Endless Boogie's mellow chugging the music starts to slide, er, out of focus, becoming a dank and yellow aural wallpaper. Their earlier limited press records each served up one monolithic sidelong jam, and then two snack-size portions-- which is closer to the right dose. Given the band's MO-- you know, endlessness-- it's easy to understand how Endless Boogie couldn't pass up the chance to release a double album. The four-sided record is the hallmark of classic-rock over-indulgence, and the extension of that indulgence is Endless Boogie's whole show. But it can be a hard show to sit through. (Aaron Leitko, pitchfork.com)

"On their 1968 album Living the Blues, Canned Heat set some kind of jam-endurance record with the live 40 -minute track "Refried Hockey Boogie." The New York quartet Endless Boogie go even further — 79 minutes — on their fantastic, note-perfect update of electric-blues drone and railroad rhythm, Focus Level (No Quarter). The album is divided into 10 so -to -speak songs, such as the Can-like chug "The Manly Vibe" and "Executive Focus," a dead ringer for a 1971 Pink Fairies wig-out. But the cumulative effect of the hog -sneeze distortion, twin -guitar skirmishes and John Lee Hooker -style chooglin! is nonstop stoner-rock delight. The vocals are cartoon -demon yowling, but the rest is as authentic as my old Groundhogs LPs. Singer-guitarist Top Dollar (the band members use pseudonyms) is also a renowned rare-record dealer — real name Paul Major — who has now made an album as freaky as those he sells." - Rolling Stone